


Ready?

by farfarawaygirl



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Admission of love, Comfort, F/M, Fools in Love, Hurt, Paramedic - Freeform, Tender - Freeform, ready, scared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfarawaygirl/pseuds/farfarawaygirl
Summary: She starts to pull the sweater over her head, but can’t seem to mange it, her arms are too heavy, her head too scattered. Matt helps her, and she hears him suck in breath when the sweater is gone and she standing there in her blood soaked bra. It’s because of the bruising. There is a vivid bruise, molten red and purple all over her left shoulder and down her back. Sylvie shivers as Kidd places a damp hand on her back.Matt’s concerned eyes are the last thing she really remembers as he steps out of the room, leaving her to be helped by Stella.She wishes he had stayed. She wishes a lot of things.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 44
Kudos: 208





	Ready?

**Author's Note:**

> I started this months ago, but had some really crazy personal stuff go down. So, this is like, pre wedding? Pre Covid? I don’t know, that about sums it up.

A uniformed officer had dropped Foster off earlier, but now Voight and Burgess are the ones driving Sylvie. She’s sitting in the backseat of the black truck, stomach upset, and uncomfortable in clothes that are not hers. When they pull up to the house, Sylvie already sees a crowd of people waiting, but she can’t make herself move. Doesn’t seem to have the will to exit the truck. 

It’s Voight who opens her door, his furrowed brow right in her line of sight, black leather jacket creaking as he offers a hand to help he out. Manners more than anything else force her to take it, and slide out of the truck. She knows he was a dad, but he’s nothing like her dad. Sylvie feels a burning in her chest for her dad, wishes he were here now. 

“Come on kid, you’ve got people waiting on you.”

Sylvie lets him lead her the couple yards to where Boden is standing, not really registering that Voight has his arm around her. 

“Brett.” Boden’s voice is soft, speaking to her like she’s a startled animal. Or a small child. 

“Chief.”

She doesn’t listen, just stands there dumbly while Voight explains something, her eyes locked on Cruz, who is hovering by the truck. Sylvie feels very tired. She hears a door open, looks over to the double doors leading to the common room and see Casey walking towards her. 

This more than anything all day makes her feel utterly exposed. His blue eyes are sharp and hard as he marches over, he moves right past Boden and she’s not really sure how but she finds herself in his arms. Face pressed into his chest, arms around his waist, toes of her shoes on his boots. She thinks he says her name. 

“We came to get her keys and purse, so Sylvie can go home.” That is Burgess talking. 

Matt’s arms lock around her. 

“We will take care of her from here.” Boden explains, voice even. 

“Sylvie,” Voight interrupts. “That okay with you?”

She doesn’t speak, just bobs her head firmly, feeling the way the fabric moves up and down Matt’s chest. Voight comes closer, places a hand on her elbow, tells her lowly that she has his info, to call if she needs anything, or remembers anything else. 

“Thank you.” Matt says, offering a hand, Sylvie knows, because she feels the heat of it leave her back. Matt hates Voight. Voight shakes it, say something to Boden and she assumes he leaves. She can’t really concentrate at the moment, so Sylvie’s not sure. The only thing she is sure of is that she doesn’t want Matt to stop holding her. 

Dazed, she realizes that he’s leading her from the driveway to the locker room. Sylvie feels hands pat her back, Cruz, Kidd, Herrmann. Mouch finds her hand and squeezes. 

“Where’s Foster?” 

It’s Severide who is walking beside her and Matt that answers. 

“Capp took her home about an hour ago.”

They’ve made it to the locker room, Sylvie feels like she hasn’t been here in a year, even though she was just here six hours ago getting ready for her first call. She still hasn’t let go of Matt. She has no plans too. It feels like her tight grip on his shirt is the only thing keeping her off the floor. 

“What are you wearing?” Kidd’s voice is curious, coming from just behind Sylvie’s left ear. 

“Halstead’s extra sweats.” 

Matt’s hands are making soothing circles on her back. Sylvie leans more into him, unwilling and unable to stand. 

“They took my clothes as evidence.”

His hands still. 

Suddenly Kidd has her arms around both Sylvie and Matt, her hair tickling Sylvie’s neck. 

“That was really scary.”

Sylvie doesn’t know how to respond to Stella, doesn’t have words. Was it scary? Yes. Does any of it makes sense? No. It pressed could she find words? Sylvie doesn’t think she will ever really be able to find the words to describe this morning. 

She said all she could in the cold, hard chair of Voight’s office, hands wrapped around the cup of coffee Trudy had brought her. She had stripped down to her underwear with Upton and Burgess making sympathized faces at her, watched dispassionately as a crime tech scrapped blood from under her nails. 

Sylvie can’t even bring herself to say she’s fine. She just stands there, sandwiched between Matt and Stella, and tries not to think of way the gun sounded when it went off. 

It could be ten minutes, or an hour but Kidd pulls away, all that does is make Sylvie more determined to hold onto Matt. She knows she is not steady enough to hold herself up. Kidd tells Sylvie’s she going to go run her a shower, but honestly Sylvie doesn’t listen. She is trying to memorize Matt’s heart beat. 

One handed Matt opens her locker, and grabs the little caddy of toiletries she keeps there, belatedly she realizes he’s talking to her. 

“...we went down to the district, but they wouldn’t let us up. Not even when Mouch asked Trudy.”

“I heard you guys, they were taking my clothes.”

Matt’s head bends down and rests on hers. She’s never been this close to him for so long. Never passed this much time in his arms. He’s all she’s wanted since the shots rang out, and it breaks her heart that he’s not hers. It is wonderful, the shelter of his arms; and still it is not enough to make this morning disappear. 

Sylvie thinks about lying down, right there on the floor and going to sleep; she is that tired. But instead she follows instructions and is lead by Matt to the shower stalls, Stella is there, sleeves rolled up, testing the water. 

She starts to pull the sweater over her head, but can’t seem to mange it, her arms are too heavy, her head too scattered. Matt helps her, and she hears him suck in breath when the sweater is gone and she standing there in her blood soaked bra. It’s because of the bruising. There is a vivid bruise, molten red and purple all over her left shoulder and down her back. Sylvie shivers as Kidd places a damp hand on her back. 

Matt’s concerned eyes are the last thing she really remembers as he steps out of the room, leaving her to be helped by Stella. 

She wishes he had stayed. She wishes a lot of things.

————-

Stella is incredibly gentle with her, brushing out her wet hair, helping her hook her bra, easing her knitted sweater over her head. Sylvie thinks vaguely that she would make a good nurse. 

“Did you get a medical check?”

Sylvie nods, “mild concussion, strained rib, no fractures.”

“Sylvie, we were all so worried.” Kidd’s voice doesn’t have any of her natural assurance, it makes Sylvie feel wobbly. “When the call came over the radio, and we didn’t know for sure what had happened, the whole house when crazy.”

“He shot the boy and his mom.”

Kidd’s eyes slide closed. 

“We were unloading at Med, and when the mom was shot, she fell back on me.”

Sylvie feels like an empty jar. She doesn’t have anything left inside her. She doesn’t have a single tear, or a single scream, she just has this horrible sinking feeling of sadness. 

Cruz and Severide come in the check on her, they talk with Stella while Sylvie laces up her boots. When she stands Cruz gives her a hug, his arms gentle on her back. 

“Joe.”

She breathes his name out, feels his tears on her neck, glad that she has such a wonderful friend. She completely misses the conversation on how she will get home, until she sees Matt in his off duty gear striding toward her. He’s carrying her bag, and his own, even though she knows shift isn’t over yet. 

Matt takes her gently by the hand, and leads her to his truck, he is careful with her, in a way that reminds her of her dad. She really, really misses him. She wishes she had the words right now, to tell Matt how much this means to her, but her throat feels clogged. She looks out the window as the city flies past and doesn’t bother to wipe away her tears. 

Somehow they make it to her place, she doesn’t recognize the streets, can’t seem to find the fine motor skills to do anything. It’s Matt who finds her keys in the pocket of her coat, and opens the door. Matt who leads her into the living room, and encourages her to to remove her shoes. 

Foster shuffles out into the room, her head wrapped in a scarf, a fluffy blanket on her shoulders. 

“Sylvie.”

Her voice is choked and heavy when she says her name, the tears starts flowing right after, but Sylvie is too tired to do anything about them. Miraculously, Matt comes to the rescue, telling Foster to sit, going to the kitchen and turning on the kettle. When he come back into the living room, Sylvie is still just standing there, watching Foster cry. 

“Sylvie.” She turns her face towards him, and Matt is overwhelmed with the desire to keep her safe. “Come on, sit down.” He coaxes her onto the couch. 

“I’m making tea,” he announces to the room. 

Sylvie is asleep by the time he comes out, her head pillows on her arm. Foster watching her, face concerned. 

“There was so much blood Casey.” Foster’s whisper rips his chest open. “I thought it was hers.”

“She is fine, Emily.” Matt smooths down Sylvie still damp hair, “she is okay.”

——-

Sylvie wakes up because someone is rocking her shoulder gently. When she opens her eyes Matt is peering intently down at her, his blue eyes sharp. 

“What’s going on?”

“I have to wake you up every few hours, because of the concussion.”

Sylvie hums our a note of protest, but Matt’s arm pulls her into his side, and she curls into the warmth of him. She’s cramped from the couch, her whole right side aching where she’s bruised. Wiggling into a more comfortable position Sylvie finds herself on her left side, her head in Matt’s lap, looking at the blank TV and Foster’s sleeping form in the armchair. 

Still full mugs of tea, long since cold, pepper the coffee table. Under her cheek Matt’s jeans are warm and a little rough, she cups her hand around his knee. 

“Can I get you anything?”

Sylvie is too drowsy to think of anything specific. 

“Can we watch house hunters?”

Matt fumbles for a remote, careful not to dislodge her as he moves. He turns the TV on, finds the right channel and puts his hand on her back, rubbing between her shoulders

“That’s nice.” Sylvie says, pressing her cheek harder into his thigh. “Thank you.”

———

Matt watches the late night news, Sylvie still asleep, her head in his lap where she has spent most of the day. They cover her story. The news anchor is a woman in fifties, short dark hair, dazzling eye make up and perfect inflection. 

“This morning two people where shot and killed outside Chicago Med, a thirteen year old boy and his Mother. The teen was being transported to emergency for a previous injury when two armed gunmen overtook the ambulance. They killed both Andres Salvatore and his mother Erica Alvarez, critically injuring a paramedic in the process. Police are looking for information, and have released this sketch.”

Foster, who had gone to bed ages ago, comes back into the living room. She’s watching Matt in the semidarkness, her eyes are bloodshot, Matt doesn’t thinks she’s slept since she went to bed. Picking up a blanket from a wicker basket by the arm chair she drapes it over Sylvie. 

“What was it like at the house?”

“Chaos.” Matt’s voice is hoarse. Emily is watching him now, but he can see the ways she’s worried her lip into bleeding. 

“Took a minute for dispatch identify what ambulance it was. They came on the radio and I thought Cruz was going to throw up. We had orders to stand down. Stay where we were.”

Under his fingers Sylvie stirs, then stills. 

“Boden left, but we couldn’t follow. Once they’d cleared the scene, but before they dropped you off, we tried to get to you both at the district. They didn’t let us past.”

Emily’s knees crack as she stand back up, takes her place in the armchair. 

“You should tell her how you feel.”

He thinks everyone knows how he feels about Sylvie. Except for maybe Sylvie. 

“It’s complicated.”

No outright denial, but not what Foster was hoping for. 

“How do you feel?”

Matt considers this. He thinks Sylvie might be his best friend in the world. Different than any relationship he’s had before, she is the person he wants to tell things to, to confide in. More and more lately she’s been the person he wants to see first and last in his day. 

Sylvie drives him a little crazy. She’s so kind. Too kind. Smart and funny. Dedicated and focused in a way that scares him a little. 

“I feel,” he clears his throat, fighting the tightness, “like I was really scared I’d lost something irreplaceable today.”

“We almost did.” 

It’s the way Foster says it that hits home how wildly out of any of their control today was. They were doing their job, they answered a call, and someone came to finish the person they were saving. That someone didn’t care about who got hurt. 

——-

Matt never realized how truly tiny Sylvie was. The narrowness of her wrists, the slightness of her shoulders. He’s been cataloging her all night, which would normally be off limits, but allows himself this gift after the morning they had. He considers the delicate cut of her cheeks as she sleeps on his thigh. 

In the very early predawn light, her phone had rung from where she placed it on the coffee table. Texts had poured in all day and night as people had checked in on her, but this is the first call. 

Matt snags the phone, answering to stop the noise. It’s too late, she is blinking up at him. 

“Hello?”

“Hey? Brett?”

“This is Captain Casey.”

“Upton.”

He sees Sylvie tighten as she registers who is calling. 

“I’m with Sylvie.”

“Can you bring her in for a lineup? Ten tomorrow?”

She nods up at him, this angle showing him an unseen bruise on the underside of her jaw. 

“Yeah. I can.”

“I’m confident we’ve got them Casey, can you let her know that?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Hailey.”

“How’s she doing?”

Matt considers his answer. “She’s going to be just fine.”

“10 tomorrow. At the district.”

“We will be there.”

The line goes dead and Matt reaches his arm out, puts the phone back on the coffee table. 

“What time is it?” Sylvie struggles to a seated position, hissing from the pain in her back. 

“Hey!” Matt provides an assist. Helping her swing her feet to the floor. 

“What are we doing on the couch?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your back by moving you.”

She has woken a few hours ago, and Foster agreed she could have some pain meds, with seemed to make Sylvie drowsy. Sagging into him she asks, “can you take me to bed, Matt?”

He gathers her easily in his arms, her head on his shoulder. A couple of weeks ago he’d help her instal a shelf in her room, so he knows where he’s going. The door is slightly ajar, and Matt is careful not to hit her on the frame. 

The bed is unmade, rumpled from her last nights sleep, when she got to work yesterday she has joked that she hadn’t made her bed because she was caught up in the drama provided by the squirrels outside her window. Matt eases her down onto the mattress. 

Sylvie is a little spaced out, she’s pulled at her sweater, keeps asking him to help her change. She must be uncomfortable in her jeans. Really, Sylvie does most of the work, Matt just helps tug the sweater back over her head, and replace it with a button pyjama shirt. She’s slow moving in taking off her jeans, and Matt helped her slide the matching pants on. 

“Socks.” She demands, and he supplies big, fluffy colourful ones, carefully pulling them up and over her ankles. 

“I’m cold, Matt.” He’s not sure what Foster gave her, but he thinks the dose was a little strong. Even after piling her duvet on her she’s still telling him she’s cold so he lies down beside her, on top of the blanket and wraps her in his arms. 

“Matt.” It’s soft, the way she says his name. He doesn’t think anyone has ever said it that way to him before. Not full of that confidence and care, that she has in him. 

“You scared me today.”

She answers by humming into his chest. 

“You scare me everyday.” She says a last, her nose in the space below his ear. And the she’s sleeping, leaving him awake in her room to think about what that means. 

————-

When Cruz comes home just after 8, he peeks his head into her room, if he is surprised to see Matt sitting up beside her over the covers he doesn’t show it. 

“Mouch told us they’ve got the guy?”

“I’m taking her in for a line up soon.”

Joe whistles. 

“Pretty scary, huh, Casey?” 

Casey nods, “can’t say I want to hear that over the radio ever again.”

“Do you think you’ll tell her that?”

Matt nods. Throat tight, chest feeling compressed. “She knows.”

“You and Brett are two peas in a pod as far as willfully ignoring your feelings goes.”

Sylvie is finally moving beside him. She stretches but pulls in back it, wincing from the pain in her back. 

“Good Morning Superstar,” Joe sings, leaning on the door frame. “You want some food?”

“Toast.” Sylvie croaks into the room, turning her head slowly to take in Joe and Matt. Her hair has curled into a bit of a rats nest overnight. 

“Coming up.” Joe leaves, but then pops back in, “they supplied a replacement rig while they wait for processing to finish in 61.”

Matt helps Sylvie sit up, a funny feeling building in his chest at how easily she leans on him. How willingly she accepts his help. 

“We’re going in for a line up, remember?” Sylvie nods her head on his shoulder, her fingers on his bicep. “Do you want to shower?” She nods again and Matt helps her get out of bed, warm when she leans against him. He is used to taking charge, and this is no different. Matt leads her to her en-suite, starts the water, places two towels on the toilet seat, and when he looks back at her she is watching him. 

“Thank you.”

It’s starting to get warm in the bathroom, steam growing behind the curtain, spilling out above them. 

“Sylvie.” She looks up at him, right into his soul. “Yesterday was one of the worst days of my life. I thought...” Matt stops, steps closer to her, puts a hand on her waist. “I realized I’m halfway in love with you.”

Like yesterday she collapses into him. Wraps him up. Matt has never felt so essential to another person as he feels right now to Sylvie. What he just said isn’t exactly true, he isn’t half way in love with her. He is all the way in love with her. Sometime in January he started a list of all the things he loved about her. 

Her selfless nature. 

Her laugh. 

The way she says his name. 

Matt adds an other thing to the list with her in his arms; the way she smells. 

One more, the way she feels in his arms. 

“You were the first thing I thought of when the gun went off.” See, that right there? Those words? Matt is both terrified and electrified by them. Terrified that she went through anything with a gun, electrified that told him how she felt. 

Now was not the time to kiss her, now was just the time to hold her and care for her and show what he had meant. With that in mind Matt is careful as he tells her to get in the shower, “I’ll be right outside the door.” 

While Sylvie shower Matt digs in his jump bag. He finds a spare shirt, changing and applying some more deodorant. Her room feels like Sylvie. Soft greens and blue, delicate fabric, rustic sensibilities. It’s homey in the way things very rarely have been for Matt these last few years. Warm. 

Foster comes in and shooed him from the room, knocking and going in to check on Sylvie. Matt uses the time to brush his teeth and wash his face in the shared hall bathroom. When Sylvie and Foster exit her room about thirty minutes later, he’s nervously bouncing a knee on the couch, and she’s dressed for the day. 

Jeans, a dark sweater, her hair pulled back in a half bun. If you didn’t know her, she’d look like she was ready for any old day. But, Matt knows her face, she’s ready for something that scares her. The thing about Sylvie, is that she is going to do it anyway. Her fingertips glide across his shoulders as she walks to the kitchen. 

Matt watches her from the couch, as she eats her toast and pats Cruz’s cheek, he sees the way she winces in pain when she over extends her arm. And all the while he feels relief. She is here. She is alive. 

She joins him by the couch, slides one cool hand into his, “ready?” Sylvie asks. 

“Ready.”

And he is. In more way than one.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or share how you’re doing...


End file.
